BLIV

"Someone told me there's a girl out there, with love in her eyes and flowers in her hair."

It echoed in her ears, something, anything after endless hours in the void. Amber knew it was bait for spell huffers like herself, but she was reduced to token skipping after redlining her wallet. This was the bitch about Oblivion. All memories, hooks, and culture were siren's calls in the void. Robert Plant witchcraft was mostly harmless, a lure for the retrocvlts. She could remain out here in the nothing or join their circle. They would want her to craft, always. That's why the hippies camped out by the fighting fields. Cheap labor could be found there.

Amber felt cheap. It was the duality of Oblivion. Cheap, powerful, cheap, powerful. Sword rider, spellcrafter, a worn-out mess in the social media machines. She was either tokenized or she was nothing. That was life here and that was the appeal. To be nothing, no one, empty or in the process of being emptied.

"Does anyone remember laughter?"

The cheapest of come-ons. This was a cracked cvlt, probably didn't have enough BLIV on them to get her anywhere worth going in this pile of nothing. She remembered herself in real life, wearing a Dark Side of the Moon tee purchased at Walmart. The weekend she chipped her tooth falling down the stairs. Bad weekend when she was a real girl, putting real bad things in her body. Running around with posers. The freedom of white boy shit. Knowing it was all nothing, all a con. It was a different type of spellcraft we practiced out there, pretending anything had meaning.

When BLIV came along she thought it was more poser shit. White girl, summoning circle, Tik Tok witch shit washed up and rehyphothecated on the new protocol. That was some wild times when they moved commerce down to the protocol layer. Mashed media with the crypto shit. We were all fucking barons of nothing, queens of the fake internet money shitposting moguldom, begging mommy domme to shower us little piggies in net filth. God, the LARP was so good you could taste it.

But BLIV was different. It was hard craft, one hit and Amber was hooked. Take a tagline, a sweet bit of nostalgia from the collective hallucination of culture we grew up in and pack dark magic right on in it. Get your head so turned up, you signed your permissions away. BLIV drained her whole wallet, even took her miladys. The ride though, the whole fucking platform was programmable magic and void. Everything was nothing until you materialized a smile and sucked a girl's soul into yours. Kicked her in the throat, swallowed down the feelgoods, then the two of you left drooling half formed thoughts into the attention pools.

Amber didn't remember laughter, she remembered BLIV breaking her brain in a million pieces, tokenizing every last one and shooting them across the network into the emptiest of address space. Whoever she was before, she'll never be again. That's death. You can keep on living, but social death, no connections, no memory of connections? That's what hard craft does. It kills you and resurrects you in nothingness. There are only snippets of everyone's memories floating in the ether.

"...bustle in your hedgerow, don't be alarmed now..."

They were getting cute in their calls. Thirsty cvlt sluts. Maybe she'd be mommy domme and just savage them straight from the drop. Op sec was non-existant with these types. One token and she could untangle their whole merkle tree. BLIV blast them. Go from cheap to powerful, start the ride all over.

In the networked negation, we were all nothing in the void of BLIV. That was the allure. Amber didn't will anything, she just acted on echoes of machines, materializing in tokens long enough to boot herself to bits...